Hope
by MistOnBirchLeaf
Summary: Annie's wistful ramblings about greener pastures, smoother seas, and brighter sunbeams in her pre-Game days, with flashbacks from the Games themselves and a bit of her childhood.


**Hey, everyone! Thanks for reading! _Hope_ is written as I imagine Annie Cresta's mental voice to sound. Obviously she's not all there mentally, many thanks *not* to the Capitol and the Games-I hope that I have managed to capture her slightly-dreamy, slightly detached narrative manner as she recalls the past.**

Sometimes I hear the sea calling my name. It whispers to me gently, and as the salt breeze pushes past my checkered green and blue curtains, the gulls' songs rise towards my window. A particularly bold gull perches on my windowsill every morning: he peers at me with his head cocked to the side, scrutinizing my pale cheeks. Cousin Erin was tanned from walking along the shore, gathering clams and mussels. I'm not tanned at all.

My green eyes look mysterious next to milky skin with a dusting of freckles across my nose and cheekbones. My hair should have been red-gold-my mother's hair was red-gold. Father's hair was red. Maybe one of my grandparents had dark hair, because mine's almost black. Mama always held me tightly each morning, calling me her "wonderful-beautiful-sea-baby." I always felt special and loved in her arms. Father called me "Sea Squirt." Those were my pet nicknames many years ago.

Erin and I spent many hours exploring the waters and marveling at the fish and the birds that lived in the bay. We loved to swim deep, deep, deep, to stroke the starfish. The sea was our friend. Our lives were golden, were happy.

The Games changed all of that. Now I see flashes of color that aren't supposed to be dancing in front of my eyes at this moment. I can see red, lots of it, which looks out of place since I'm looking at my ocean-colored curtains. Ah! The flash passes, and now I only see curtain. Delightfully normal curtain.

My name, they tell me, is Annie. Annie Cresta. Why don't I remember being called Annie? I remember a little bit about Erin calling me "Nee-Nee," but other than that, my memories dart in and out of my skull at will. Right now I can remember the shade of pink that Finn's face turned when I pecked him on the cheek.

It was the middle of summer, how many years ago? Time's not constant for me; what seems a day isn't a day-perhaps it's about two days or so, since the mailman always delivers a package for me every third day. Anyway, Finn and I were swimming among the rocks, diving for pretty rocks. He and I were Victors then. Both of us were healing from our experiences in the Arena.

I remember that he said something nice about my hair-it was dripping wet and seaweed-twined. I remember that he held my hand when a flashback hit me and I sunk down on my knees, shivering on a barnacle-crusted rock. He had sea-green eyes, I remember, and could always coax a laugh out of me.

But right then, I couldn't laugh. I was tormented by the image of twins, a boy and a girl, lying side by side, the girl's hands clasping the boy's mutilated arm. They had tried to escape a pack of snarling mutts. Then a Career's knife brought down one mutt. The rest of the mutts died too, and then the Careers turned on the terrified children.

Finn knew that I was reliving a horrible memory. I was thinking of how I escaped death that day: I had watched from the safety of a juniper. I had scrambled up and cut myself all over, trembling and praying that they didn't see me. My hair was matted and my left leg ached. The mutts would have turned on me had they not smelled the twins who were trying to flee from the Careers..

Finn held me in his bronzed arms and sang the silly song about the dolphin who fell in love with a sunflower. He was so gentle and I felt so safe. Then I kissed him quickly and backed away, shy and uncertain. He looked happy and shy himself, peering into my eyes with affection and hope.

Then he had to leave for the Capitol. Snow's orders. But they weren't officially orders. They were "invitations." So my Finn left again, and I waited. I waited with me, myself, I, and my memories.

My name is still Annie Cresta. My memories tell me little about myself-sometimes I remember my parents' smiles. But more often, I think of Finn. Finn's good to me. He visits every other year and brings me knotted necklaces strung with luminous stones that shimmer in the sun and tinkle when they clatter against one another.

Every third day I get a small package from him. Each package is a small tidbit-a pretty feather, a poem, a scrap of Capitol fabric vividly streaked with hue, a short note.

Because one day, Finn's coming back for me, and we're going to get married.


End file.
